


Three Dogs That Weren't Theirs

by AVegetarianCannibal



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dogs, Idiots in Love, M/M, WIll has had an influence on Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:20:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: A birthday ficlet gift for my dear Fannibal friend.





	Three Dogs That Weren't Theirs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imaginarylock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarylock/gifts).



> A birthday ficlet gift for my dear Fannibal friend.

**One**

They’re driving back from dumping Mason off at Muskrat Farm when Hannibal sees the dog loping along the side of the road. He pulls over and clicks on the hazard lights while Will turns a quirked eyebrow in his direction.

“Are you going to help me?” Hannibal asks, hand on the door handle.

Will just looks surprised and says nothing as they get out of the car together.

The dog immediately jogs over to them, tongue lolling out of its mouth. It’s a handsome German shepherd mix with a touch of graying around its muzzle, and cataracts just beginning to form in its eyes. The collar around its neck is a fine black leather and a gleaming silver tag reveals the dog’s name.

“Hello, Brandon,” Hannibal says, rubbing the dog’s ears.

“I didn’t realize you were such a natural with dogs,” Will says dryly.

“I get along well with your dogs,” Hannibal reminds him.

“You feed them people meat,” Will snorts, but crouches down beside him to join in petting Brandon.

“Do you want to take him home?” Hannibal asks.

“He’s obviously someone’s beloved pet,” Will says. “We’ll call the number on his tag.”

Indeed, they learn that Brandon, just starting to show signs of senility, wandered off from a family picnic the day before. His people are tearfully grateful to get him back.

“Thank you for stopping to help that dog,” Will says when Hannibal drops him back at his house in Wolf Trap.

They say nothing at all about Mason Verger or what might come next.

 

**Two**

He’s at a cafe in Paris with Bedelia when he sees the Dachshund tucked into a young woman’s over-sized purse. The dog wears a smart red paisley scarf to match its owner’s own. They sit down at a table near the street and Hannibal watches them.

He wonders what Will would think of carrying a dog around in a purse. Would he scoff? Would he see it as a harmless affectation? Perhaps he would assume the dog was tired and needed a lift from its human chauffeur. Perhaps he wouldn’t think anything at all.

“People watching?” Bedelia asks, peering at him over the top of her newspaper.

“People and dog,” he says.

“Never took you for a dog person,” she says.

He purses his lips against any further admission, but she intuits his true meaning.

“Does every dog remind you of Will Graham?” she asks.

He watches the young woman feed bits of pastry to the Dachshund off her plate. She calls the dog Gidget. It sounds like something Will would name a dog.

“Not every,” Hannibal finally replies.

 

**Three**

Will is peeking through the blinds in their motel room which smells like mildew and the fried chicken restaurant next door. Hannibal only tolerates the odor when he’s near enough to Will that he can breathe in the warmly familiar scent of his skin.

He rebandages Will’s wounds and follows his line of vision out to the parking lot.

Two girls are walking a dog just beyond the parking lot. Occasionally one of them skips ahead and calls the dog to her, laughing in delight when he catches up to her and licks her shins. They sing-song his name over and over. “Sam-my, Sam-my, Sam-my!” He looks like a Jack Russell.

“Remind you of Buster?”

Will just sighs in response.

“I could get him for you,” Hannibal says. “Say the word.”

“Sammy or Buster?” Will asks.

“Sammy,” Hannibal says. “I don’t think it would be wise to travel all the way to Maine in our current state.”

“Or at all,” Will says. “No, don’t get him.”

“I would be quick. I wouldn’t hurt the girls, if that’s your concern. They wouldn’t even see me.”

Will lets the blinds close and turns to face him. “My _concern_ is that it would be difficult to travel with a dog. Also that nobody should steal a dog from children.”

His tone is chastising, but there is affection in his expression. Hannibal throws caution to the wind and kisses his forehead.

 

**Four**

He’s at a seaside fish market not far from their new house when he sees a small black dog skulking around the stalls. A man with a broom swats the dog away when it sneaks a squid out of an iced tray. The dog yelps and drops his prize as he runs off towards the docks. Hannibal pays the man for a small bag of squid and remembers his face for tomorrow.

He takes off in the direction he saw the dog running and wonders if he should call to it. If the dog is feral, his voice might scare it off.

He decides to imitate the fishmongers, since the dog likely associates their calls with the potential of a stolen meal.

“Pescado fresco! Pescado fresco aquí!”

The dog pokes its head out from behind a rubbish bin and gives him a doubtful look.

Hannibal holds up his bag and gives it a gentle shake. “Calamares?”

The dog takes two steps towards him, wagging its tail low between its legs. Hannibal tosses it the smallest squid in the bag.

The dog flinches when the squid lands, but holds its ground. After a few moments of regarding Hannibal warily, it darts forward to devour the offering.

Hannibal tosses another, aiming for a spot closer by.

After the fourth squid, the dog has decided Hannibal is a friend, and sidles up to offer his head for a scratch.

He’s a male of uncertain parentage—some kind of terrier in the mix, judging by his wild, wiry hair—and no more than thirteen pounds. Hannibal scoops him up and puts him in the basket strapped to his bicycle’s handlebars for the ride home.

“Did they have the fish I wanted?” Will calls from the kitchen as soon as they come through the door.

“I forgot to check,” Hannibal says.

Will walks into the living room with a frown that lights up into a smile. "Who’s this?“ he asks, holding his arms out for the dog.

"I found him running loose,” Hannibal says. “No collar, no tag, no children. I thought we could call him Calamar.”

“Is he why you forgot to get my fish?” Will asks, laughing as the dog licks his ear.

“I’m afraid so,” Hannibal says. “But I need to go back to the market tomorrow for something anyway.”

Will sets the dog down to let him explore, then reaches up to hold Hannibal’s face in his hands.

Hannibal holds still as Will kisses him on the lips twice, lightly and quickly, then a third time long enough and deep enough that Hannibal thinks he might forget his own name.

“Does that mean we can keep him?” he asks when he’s regained his senses.

“Yes,” Will says. “It means we can keep him.”

**Author's Note:**

> p.s. Hannibal goes back to the market the next day and kills that rude ass fishmonger.


End file.
